The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  “They must be the Batavian cavalry squadrons Sir, come to join us,” one of his squad leaders said as Fergus slowly stepped into the verge. Along the road, many of the legionaries had paused in what they had been doing and had turned to stare in silence at the approaching riders.

  As the cavalrymen came trotting past heading in the direction of the battle group’s camp, Fergus gazed at the riders with interest. The auxiliaries were clad in their distinctive chain-mail armour and their simple cap-like helmets. These were the Germanic auxiliaries with whom his father Marcus, had spent his entire career. Their reputation as fierce, reliable and loyal warriors preceded them. He had seen that for himself on the diplomatic mission to the Vandals, when part of Hadrian’s escort had comprised of a squadron of Batavian riders from his father’s old regiment. Acting on some instinct, Fergus raised his arm and hailed one of the cavalry decurion’s.

  “Friend, do any of you men belong to the 2nd Cohort?” Fergus called out.

  “I am from the 9th, so are all these men,” the officer replied in a guttural German accent, slowing his horse as Fergus came towards him.

  “My father served with the 2nd in Britannia and here on the Danube,” Fergus said, as hastily he kept pace with the horseman. “His name is Marcus, he fought at Mons Graupius with Agricola. Have you any post from Britannia? My father uses you Batavians to send me letters. Have you any letters for me? My name is Fergus, Optio in the 2nd company, 2nd Cohort of the Twentieth. Our home base is Deva Victrix in Britannia. I have to ask. We are a long way from our families and we haven’t seen them in nearly a year.”

  The officer glanced at Fergus with interest. Then sadly he shook his head. “I am sorry I wouldn’t know,” he growled. “But maybe you should ask our standard bearer, Berengar - he knows about such matters. But he’s already up ahead so you must wait until you reach the camp.”

  Dejected Fergus came to a halt, as along the road the hundreds of heavily-armed cavalrymen continued to trot past. Then as the last of the riders disappeared up the dusty road, Fergus saw Lucullus coming towards him. As their centurion appeared the legionaries along the side of the road rose to their feet and reached for their shields and spears.

  “Everything all right Sir?” Fergus said as he smoothly fell in beside his commanding officer as behind them the squad leaders started to yell at their men to form up in the middle of the road.

  “All good,” Lucullus muttered without glancing at Fergus, “I just needed to visit the whorehouse one more time before we go to war.”

  ***

  It was night and in the vast Roman encampment along the banks of the Danube, the rows of white army-tents stretched away into the darkness. Fergus however was sitting outside in the long grass, beside a crackling camp-fire, gazing up at the multitude of stars that covered the heavens. Around him the eighty men from his company were doing the same, huddled under their cloaks and blankets and gathered around their small fires. Some of the legionaries were trying to sleep whilst others were cooking a night-time meal or quietly talking amongst each other. There had been a screw-up by the logistics staff and for some reason the company’s tents had not arrived in time so there had been no other option but to spend the night out under the night sky. Luckily the night seemed to look like it would remain dry. Wearily Fergus closed his eyes and lay back in the grass but he could not sleep. It had been a shitty and disappointing day. He hated this time for there was nothing to do and his thoughts always seemed to turn to his family’s predicament and his home on Vectis. There was nothing he could do to help them, he had told himself a thousand times, but that did not stop him from worrying. Frustrated he ran his hand across his face and through his short red hair. He had to concentrate on what was coming. The company was going to war. He owed it to his men to be sharp and show them that he knew what he was doing.

  “Do you boys know where I can find the 2nd company, 2nd Cohort of the Twentieth?” a guttural voice suddenly called out in the darkness. “I am looking for your optio, a man called Fergus.”

  In response Fergus scrambled to his feet and turned to peer into the darkness in the direction from which the voice had spoken.

  “I am Fergus, who wants to know?” he replied in a loud voice.

  In the darkness, there was no immediate reply. Then a few moments later a man appeared from the gloom and came stomping towards the small camp fire. Fergus raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was one of the Batavian auxiliaries, clad in his long chain-mail shirt and wearing his cap like helmet.

  “Are you Fergus?” the auxiliary exclaimed, examining Fergus carefully. Over his shoulder the man was carrying a leather despatch case, similar to those carried by imperial messengers.

  “That’s what I said,” Fergus growled. “What is going on?”

  “My name is Berengar, standard bearer of the 9th cohort of Batavians,” the auxiliary replied. “One of my decurion’s mentioned that you told him your father served with the 2nd cohort. You asked him if he had any post. I look after such things for our unit, so I checked and I have a letter for you.”

  “From who?” Fergus blurted out with sudden excitement, “can I see it?”

  “It’s from a woman,” Berengar said guardedly. “Tell me her name and I shall give you the letter. Can’t be giving someone else’s mail to you, now can I.”

  “Kyna,” Fergus replied hastily but the auxiliary shook his head. “No, that’s not the name of the person that’s written on the letter,” he snapped.

  “Galena,” Fergus said without hesitation and he was rewarded with a little satisfied grunt from the standard bearer. “I don’t want to hear a bad word being muttered about my Batavians from your men, you hear,” Berengar muttered, as he handed Fergus a small tablet of thin plywood. “Good night.”

  Fergus did not watch the auxiliary disappear into the darkness. His eyes were fixed on the small wooden tablet in his hands and his chest was heaving. Receiving post out here on the frontier was as rare as pay day but was it good or bad news? Someone else must have written the letter for Galena, Fergus thought, for his wife had never been taught how to write. It was probably one of the freedmen in Deva who specialised in these services. Around him the men around the camp fire stirred expectantly as they saw what was going on. Taking a deep breath Fergus undid the seal that fastened the tablet together and sat down beside the fire to read.

  Galena to her Fergus, greetings

  Dearest husband, I write to you with news that I, and our baby daughter are well. I have called her Briana just like you wanted. She is healthy, happy and she has your eyes but no sign of her father’s red hair. I miss you, husband. Since you departed, life has been nothing but toil and hard work. My father, Taran says that you will be gone for years but I do not want to believe it. I have taken Briana down to the grove beside the river where we were wed and I have placed a new stone there for every month that you have been away. And when she is older and can understand I shall tell her about you. My grandmother’s amulet will protect you dearest husband, of that I am sure, for it has powerful magic. Keep it close and write to me when you can. I stop by the army camp in Deva every day to find out if there is news. I think the guards beside the gate have become sick of the sight of me but I am not the only woman who comes to inquire and I will continue to do so. Farewell then husband, may the guardian spirits watch over you and protect you, Galena and Briana to their Fergus.

  “Oh, I think the optio has just received some good news,” Vittius called out as a grin appeared on his face.

  Around the camp-fire the rest of the men had risen to their feet and were staring at Fergus. News from home was precious, so precious that it was often shared amongst one’s friends and comrades.

  “I have become a father,” Fergus said in a hoarse voice.

  Chapter Twenty – Across the Danube

  Fergus could see that the battle group’s numbers had swollen again as he and Lucullus strode through the army camp towards the HQ tents. Around him the endless lines of white-
army tents covered the fields and meadows along the Danube. Further away along the marshy, reed infested banks of the river, birds were circling in the air and Fergus could just about see the line of black boats that formed the boat-bridge across the Danube. Along the approach road that led in the direction of Viminacium and Kostolac, hundreds of carrobalista, artillery and bolt-throwers mounted on wagons, and carts of all shapes and sizes, filled with provisions and supplies, had been parked along the side of the road. It was early evening and two weeks had passed since they had left Aquincum and had marched south, following the course of the Danube. Their route had taken them past the great Roman fortress cities of Sirmium and Singidunum, Belgrade. They had crossed the Sava river on small boats and finally on to Viminacium and the spot along the Danube where the Roman engineers had thrown a bridge of boats across the mighty river. And ever since they had reached this spot, not a day had gone by when some new unit with their equipment had come marching or riding into the battle group’s expanding camp. The soldiers seemed to be converging on the pontoon bridge from every corner of the empire. Already Fergus had counted two nearly-complete legions. The 1st Minervia from Bonna and the 2nd Adiutrix from Aquincum, his own vexillation of a thousand men from the Twentieth and another vexillation of legionaries from the 7th Gemina Legion whom had come from Hispania. Then there were the 2nd and 9th Batavian auxiliary cohorts from garrison duty on the Danube; a detachment of mixed infantry and mounted Germanic irregulars; a force of wild, bareheaded Berber light cavalry from North Africa and a corps of civilian pioneers and engineers, together with hundreds of artillery pieces and war machines. And now just that morning, a cohort of Syrian archers, with their strange, pointy helmets and chain-mail armour, had come marching into the camp.

  “There must be over twenty thousand of us by now,” Fergus muttered, glancing at his commanding officer.

  “Oh, it’s going to be big all right,” Lucullus replied, as they approached the cluster of tents where the battle group’s senior commanders were housed. “Trajan has concentrated nearly half of the entire army along the Dacian frontier. We’re talking something like a hundred and fifty thousand men. This war is going to be something you will want to tell your grandchildren about. If you are lucky and survive it,” the centurion said glancing sideways at Fergus.

  ***

  The officer in command of the whole twenty-thousand strong army stood alone in the centre of the large tent. His chest was covered by a fine looking, tailored, cuirassed muscle armour over which he had draped a long blood-red cloak. In his hand, he was clutching a simple optio’s staff. He looked around fifty years old with short white hair and a rugged, sunburnt complexion. Around him the two hundred or so senior officers had gathered in a wide, closely-packed circle as they quietly listened to their commander. Outside it was growing dark and oil lamps and several braziers lit up the general’s tent with a flickering, crackling light. In front of Fergus, Lucullus was staring intently at the rough map drawn in the sand. The O group meeting had just started and the tension and excitement amongst the gathered officers was palpable.

  “Gentlemen,” the general called out, turning to look around at his subordinates, his eyes twinkling and glinting in the flickering light. “Yesterday I received our orders from the emperor. The invasion of Dacia will begin within hours. As of first light, at dawn tomorrow, our troops will begin crossing the Danube in force. Our main objective is King Decebalus’s capital of Sarmisegetusa Regia. It is a mountain stronghold, well sited and well defended. I first fought these Dacian’s back in Domitian’s reign. Expect the enemy to put up a ferocious fight to protect their capital. They know that we are coming for them and they will be fighting for their very survival. Now if you look at the map you can see that Trajan has divided our forces into three columns. The most eastern column will be crossing the river here tonight,” the general said tapping the map drawn in the sand with his Optio’s staff. They will advance into the heart of Dacia along the valley of the Aluta river and over the Rotherthurm mountain pass. Along the central axis, Trajan, with four legions, will lead the main central assault across the new stone-bridge that was finished last year and will force his way towards the Dacian capital over the Vulcan mountain pass. The plan is to envelope the Dacian capital from three sides, systematically reducing the enemy fortresses as we progress.”

  The white-haired general paused, as he turned to stare at the rough map drawn in the sand. Then he raised his head. “So, that leaves us, the western column, here at Viminacium. Our orders are to cross the Danube using the pontoon bridge that has already been constructed. Once we are across the river, we shall advance to relieve our garrisons and forts at Arcidava and Tibiscum, building a supply road as we move forwards. Now gentlemen,” the general growled, turning to look at the eager faces staring back at him. “The men in those outposts in the Banat region have been more or less cut off and under continuous siege for the whole winter, ever since the war started in the summer of last year. They are in a bad state and several forts have already fallen into enemy hands. Our task will be to quickly relieve them and engage and defeat any Dacian resistance. No Dacian fortress is to be left standing, not a single fort. They are all to be stormed and taken. After we have accomplished that task, we will turn eastwards, entering the Tibiscum river valley here and fight our way through the iron gates and over the mountain pass towards the Dacian fortress of Tapae. Once we are over the mountain pass we will link up with the other two columns and encircle Sarmisegetusa Regia and destroy it.”

  As the general fell silent the tent also fell silent.

  “Questions?” the general called out in a loud voice, as he turned to look around at his officers.

  “If my pioneers are to build your road Sir,” an officer called out, “they will need protecting. My men are not soldiers Sir. They are engineers, labourers, slaves, POW’s. They are not trained to fight. I hate to say it but they will flee at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Guard detachments will be left along our line of advance to protect your men,” the general replied with a reassuring nod.

  “What about the enemy Sir,” a Centurion called out, “what can you tell us about the Dacian’s, their tactics and method of fighting?”

  “I have been fighting these barbarians for over fifteen years,” the general replied. “Decebalus is a warrior king; he is cunning and he is ruthless. He fought Domitian to a standstill. Last year he sent assassins dressed as Roman soldiers to try and assassinate Trajan. He lured my friend Pompeius Longinus into peace talks and then took him prisoner, hoping to use him as a bargaining tool. Longinus only escaped by killing himself. This is the sort of king that we are dealing with. But the Dacian’s respect him. They still have considerable numbers of warriors and a plentiful supply of weapons and gold. Their fortresses are well-built and well positioned. Expect them to fight like wild beasts but this is not going to be a war of open, pitched battles. Dacia is a mountain kingdom filled with treacherous gorges, mountain fortresses, fast-flowing rivers and dense forests. The Dacian’s know from experience that they are no match for us in a pitched battle, so they will defend their mountain strongholds and try and ambush us wherever they can. They are past-masters of insurgency tactics. Once we are across the Danube, you will never be safe, not even in the middle of your own camp. Always be on your guard and don’t trust what these Dacian’s tell or show you. Always get a second opinion. It may save your life.”

  ***

  “Up, up. Move it, move it,” Fergus cried out in a harsh voice as he hastily strode around amongst the men of his company, shaking and kicking the legionaries to their feet. It was still night and it was drizzling. Around them the darkness blanketed the land and there was no sign of dawn. But the camp was not asleep. In the darkness, the Roman officers were everywhere, shouting orders and all was movement and activity. In the light of hundreds of burning torches, long columns of heavily-armed and laden legionaries were forming up along both sides of the track leading down to the ba
nks of the Danube. The soldiers clad in their armour and helmets and clutching their large shields, covered in their protective hide-covers, stood around in silence as they waited for the order to move. Across their left shoulders, the men were weighed down by their spears and their heavy, sixty-pound, marching packs, which were slung over their shoulders on rods. And spaced out at intervals along the long columns were the legion’s stoic mules, heavily laden with tents, cooking-pots, spare weapons, water-skins, mill-stones and other equipment. Further away hidden in the darkness, Fergus could hear the neighing and stamping of hundreds of horses and the groan and rattle of numerous wheels rolling through the mud towards him.

  “Company is all present and correct, numbers tally, Sir,” the company Tesserarius, the watch commander said, as he hastily came up to Fergus and snapped out a salute. “We are ready to go, Sir.”

  “Good, let’s take our place in the column,” Fergus replied with a nod.

  As to the east beyond the Danube, the first glimpse of the sun rose above the distant mountains a trumpet rang out across the banks of the river. It was swiftly joined by other trumpets. And as he heard the signal to advance Fergus, standing at the very rear of his company, took a deep breath and blew on his whistle. Around him the other Roman officers were doing the same. Along the muddy track the legionaries raised their large shields off the ground and began to slowly trudge down the slope of the grassy hill, following their centurions and standards, towards the glittering waters of the Danube. Fergus clutching his optio’s staff followed, his eyes fixed on the column of heavily-laden troops in front of him. It was his job to make sure that none of the company’s men fell out of formation or started going the wrong way. That was when he could use his optio’s staff to beat them back into formation, not that the men had ever given him that excuse.